The Magister and the Troll
by JasionDrake
Summary: What an inspiring title! My first foray into the horrifying world of Fanfiction. Do R/R. Rated M, just in case I get fresh.


Aelaren walked up the arching path to Sunfury Spire, smoothing his apprentice's robe as he went. He could feel the scrutinising eyes of the Royal Guard appraising him as he passed, but he was confident he was familiar to most of them. Entering the seventh year of his apprenticeship, he had travelled this way four times a day for that time. Suspicious as the Guard could be, he knew he had nothing to fear from them.

Within the recesses of his robe, he could feel his orders. They almost pulled him down with the weight of the authority within them. Rommath himself had requested the aid of an apprentice! The very idea was inconceivable. Of course, Rommath had not issued the orders to Aelaren himself – such an audience was too high an honour. Instead, Aelaren had received his orders from Master Inethven, who had told him in no uncertain terms that the instructions were non-negotiable.

That didn't mean they made any sense, though. The orders were simple enough. Meet the Horde emissary and aid him with the authority of Silvermoon. The emissary was a shaman, which made Aelaren uncomfortable. Shamanism was a throwback to a more barbaric time, a time when his people had still served Aszhara and ancient gods still walked the earth. Such power was…unrefined.

To make matters worse, the emissary was a troll! Rumour flooded into the city daily, of Amani incursions on the borders of Quel'thalas. Oh, it was known among the people that this tribe of trolls, the Darkaxe or Blackspear or something, were 'different'. They were vassals of the Warchief of the Horde, apparently. A Warchief who was, incidentally, an orc. It made Aelaren nervous, it really did.

He passed into the audience chamber, watched all the while by the distrustful Royal Guard. The chamber was empty, of course. If any of the three members of the ruling council had been in residence, obtaining entry would be much harder.

He crossed to the walkways at the back of the room and ascended, pondering his task the whole while. Why had Rommath requested that this task be performed by an apprentice, specifically? Surely this was of the utmost diplomatic importance. After the recent debacles in sin'dorei lands at the whim of the meddlesome Alliance, Silvermoon could ill afford another enemy. Aelaren sighed, heavy with the weight of his responsibility.

He came to the top of the stairs and immediately came face to face with his task. Inwardly he groaned.

The creature was taller than he was, and had purplish-blue skin. He assumed it was female, as the tusks were small. He could not discern any physical features from the neck down, as the creature was swathed in a leather robe that bulged in unpleasant places. The hair was purple, and there was what appeared to be a shrunken head hanging from the creature's belt, which seemed to grin at him.

Aelaren sighed. _Perfect_.

The troll had a Royal Guardsman by the scruff of the neck, and seemed to be questioning him. As Aelaren got near, he could make out what was being said.

"I'll be askin you one more time, mon. Where I be getting one of dem blade thingies?"

Aelaren exchanged glances with the harassed guard. "Greetings…madam," he interjected, bowing with a flourish. "What brings you to Silvermoon?" He knew already, of course, but inwardly there was a faint hope that this would not be his assignment

The troll turned to face him and smiled, chipped teeth showing to complement the tusks. "Ey, thanks mon. I be being sent here by da spirits. Apparently you little elfies got a problem with your earth. I be being sent here to find some elfie to show me around, see what we can be doin about it."

Aelaren forced a smile. "I would be that elf. I am Aelaren Skyshatter. Welcome to Silvermoon City. I am your guide and protector for the duration of your stay."

The troll looked him up and down, and sniffed. "Alright. Where I be getting a weapon like this elfie?"

Aelaren was temporarily nonplussed. "Uh…the Royal Guard are not able to relinquish their weapons, ma'am. They serve the ruling council of Silvermoon." He searched for something to say. "I trust your journey was agreeable?"

The troll released the guard. "Had to go through the dead city to get here. Smelt bad!"

Aelaren reflected that if a troll was in any position to comment on smell, the Forsaken would be the prime target. He smiled. "Can I escort you to an inn? You must be tired."

"Alright den. You can be calling me Ra'cha'ii, by de way."

Aelaren grimaced. "Ra…chaii…"

Rachaii scowled. "Ra'cha'ii! Ah, forget it."

Aelaren turned and she fell into step behind him. Aelaren got the impression his troubles were just beginning.


End file.
